One-Hundred No's and One Yes
by Father Vengeance
Summary: "No, Rick. Not like this." She's an impossible woman. But he can't resist trying to find the right way. Post-Finale fun. Strictly silliness for the most part, because I need some of that right now. It's a working title. We'll just have to wait and see what the actual count ends up being.
1. Chapter 1

_Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh._

Kate Beckett's eyes creaked open, blurrily lifting to the ceiling fan above. A lazy blink induced clarity, sharpening into details: brass trimming at each of the fixture's four connecting arms. Morning light winked from the metal as it spun. The blades were wooden, polished. Huh. _He dusts like a champ_, she thought, and a half-smirk awoke as the woman's dark eyes fell to the broad back of the man in bed next to her. Poor guy. All that time on his knees waiting for her eventual, gentle, "_No, Rick. Not like this._' Then she brought him home to talk—really talk. Somehow they've found their way again. Not engaged, but not divided by states or secrets; joined by the will to try, to communicate, and to keep seeing one another, but more importantly, to truly _see _one another.

Then she put him right back onto those knees for a different variety of romantic reasons.

It was slightly cruel. It was only a little funny. But the look in his eyes as he'd obediently, tortuously played his mouth down her front—so goddamned good.

Beckett grinned, quivered with a strange, almost melancholy mirth beneath the sheets. The detective reached over to give Richard Castle's shoulder a gentle shake.

All she got for her trouble was a long, stuttered growl.

_Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh._

She shook, shook, shook.

"Argh," the writer snarled as he rolled onto his back, but his grimace fled abruptly as his eyes popped up. _Mmm_, she had a front row seat as his pupils caught the light and retreated into tighter spheres, spilling out more and more of those delicious blue irises as they went. Another blink, and then his head shifted right to face her. A lop-sided smile awoke and fled. He yawned and lifted one large hand to rub his jaw and chin, rough with a five o' clock shadow.

"At least I gave you a yes the second time," Kate offered impishly, withholding the grin.

Castle blinked again as his plump lower lip pressed into its twin with bemusement. "Huh?"

"The world-renowned author says 'huh'," she mocked.

_Ah, there we go_, Beckett thought as his eyes narrowed and his chin lifted indignantly. _Now he's up_.

"What are you talking ab—" but the words stalled before being completed. His eyes narrowed further, mere crescents of color, and the detective knew he was both up and on the same page as her. Well, she had to grin at that. Castle shook his head against the pillow even as his gaze returned to normal width. "That's so bad. You're cruel, woman."

"Oh yes, yes, yes," she teased, each word a lusty gasp torn from her throat, "I really am."

"I swear I'm male," he mused aloud, seemingly to himself as he rubbed at one eye and faced the fan above. "I tinkle on my feet. I'm confounded by the overabundance of subtext. Why, I have an unshaven, testosterone kind of thing happening on my face right now. All the right parts are there. Male."

"I'll say," she goaded mercilessly, grazing his thigh with her fingernails.

The corners of his mouth twitched, but he did his best to ignore her. "But somehow I find myself lacking pants. Someone stole my pants, and I lament that I shall never find them again."

Beckett rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she smoothed the skin she'd been tickling. "Yes, you're the very walking, well, laying personification of tragedy."

"Lying," he corrected, affronted. "Not laying—that's past tense."

Beckett's eyebrows soared. She actually rose onto one elbow in surprise.

"Ah shit," he grumbled, and she dissolved to laughter, flopping back on the bed in delight. Because there are times his arguing about her grammar definitely makes chances of 'laying' a thing of the past. The other just shook his head again, stubbornly stoic in the face of his double-entendre.

"Your morning brain is fun," she observed, still grinning.

"It thinks you're just okay."

"Aw," she mewed, and made pouty lips, smacking them wetly as he continued refusing to take notice.

"And when I say okay, I'm talking about the way getting put on the rack for an hour is okay in comparison to spending the rest of my days sheathed in an iron maiden."

_Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh._

She softly smacked, smacked, smacked her lips, pressing them against the shell of his right ear.

Finally he leaned away with a brief grin, rubbing at the offended appendage. "Get off, madwoman."

"Make me breakfast," she hummed, chasing after him with her leaning upper body.

"Hmph," he simpered. "Fat chance."

Beckett hooked one leg across both of his to prevent anymore retreat and stroked her digits over the swell of one pectoral muscle, following the masculine curve into the valley of his chest. The detective growled, "Feed me, Seymour."

His humor faltered despite the teasing, despite the gentle brushing of her nose against his cheek. The moist press of her lips to one corner of his mouth found the author's pair tightened into a line of consideration. When she drew back, his gaze was focused in a neutral zone straight above them both. "I didn't ask because I hoped it would trap you here, Kate."

She sighed quietly, lowered her wild, dark-hair onto his right shoulder.

"I just…want you," he offered, seemingly at a loss to explain it better. _Foolish man_. He didn't have to.

"You got me," Beckett reminded him. "You've _had_ me."

"Then…why not? It's just a lump of metal and a rock." Bullshit. They both knew better.

"I _told _you why," she reminded him again. It was true. She really had—at great length by her standards. They talked until all the words were out, beyond the moment when it felt as though they'd managed to bridge the gap her silence—however well-meaning it seemed at the time—had once more created, and then well into the phase where they moved past speaking to express themselves.

"Timing," he recalled aloud, but not mockingly. Rather, as of a man pondering the great wide possibilities of the meanings behind the word. At length he said, "I know better, but at the same time I don't see why it should matter. The moment is special because it's ours."

"It matters to me." So she's a girl after all—_so fuckin' sue me_.

"No, I get that. I do."

The dark-haired woman leaned away and narrowed her gaze, but Richard's eyebrows lifted with obvious innocence. When he realized the two words of his reply which had provoked her expression he grinned sheepishly, chuckled deeply before disguising it as a quiet cough. Beckett's squint deepened briefly in feigned irritation before she lowered her head back to his shoulder.

"When its right," she offered, "I promise you'll know."

"I can picture it now," he mused with teasing wistfulness. "Us in the shadows of an alley at a morning crime scene, dead body nearby, surrounded by our friends and colleagues. You'll point to a spot of pavement clear of blood-spatter or debris and snap your fingers. I'll take a knee. The boys will weep. We'll group-hug after."

"This right here is how _I _know you're male," she muttered, refusing to smirk when he trembled beneath her with quiet humor. She was so goddamn glad they were together. Days ago they'd seemed on the brink of an end. They weren't exactly okay even now. _Muddling through_, she determined mentally, _as we always have_.

"I think you should cook this morning," Castle decided aloud.

"Huh? Why me?"

"Because you shot me down," he chided, as if it were obvious. "Give me _something_ here."

Beckett was silent. Then she warily inquired, "What do you want?"

"Surprise me."

"How does a bounty of oxygen grab you?"

"Is this how you mend broken hearts? I thought you went to Stanford?"

"Oh-ho," she chuckled in surprise, rising apart from him with her eyebrows arched. "Careful, buster."

"I'm just sayin'. With that kind of bedside manner I'm glad you didn't have your heart set on being a doctor."

Beckett flipped aside the sheets and rose from the bed, pointedly ignoring him. A delayed yawn claimed the nude woman as she stretched languidly, savoring the tightness and the ease of release when she relaxed her posture.

"How are you at making French toast?"

"Your taste buds would be rocked by my French toast."

"And maybe some scrambled eggs? Bacon?"

"And fried breakfast potatoes."

"Oh," he replied and smoothed his abdomen with a confirming nod.

"Get dressed."

"I will if you don't."

"Castle…"

"It's my special morning," he whined. His eyes widened slightly in a lame attempt of pitiful appeal.

"That's not working."

"Only because you lack empathy. I love you anyway. Isn't that so nice of me?"

"You just can't get enough of annoying me, can you? That makes forever look, oh, so very long."

Rick only chuckled again.

"Fine."

His eyebrows soared. "Seriously?"

Given Martha's absence last night they weren't expecting her back until later in the morning. That being the case—yeah, she'd play with him for a bit. Let it ease both of their frayed nerves. Kate refocused on her partner as he also rose, simmered with pleasure to watch his muscles knotting as he too flexed off the haze of slumber from his body. It wasn't a frightening thing to behold. _Well, obviously not_. But figuratively speaking too; in a 'for years to come' kind of way: it was something she could imagine getting used to.

"Gonna shower," he informed as he circuited the bed. The man paused at her side to press his lips to her right temple in a lingering kiss.

She smiled, stroked his arm and turned slightly to follow him with her gaze. "Do you want me to wait to start until you join me?"

Rick looked back with a crooked smirk. "I do."

* * *

**A/N: Phew. It's good to get a little lightness out of my system. The other new addition is rightly enjoying a grim infancy. Anyway, this story obviously assumes quite a bit. It's not what I imagine will happen, or even hope will happen really. It just struck me as a funny concept to play with now and again. Hopefully it'll prove an amusing diversion for you as well. Thank you for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

Beckett paused before her desk. She stared blankly at her partner's customary chair.

A fresh mug of coffee was cradled in her hands, wafting steam and a tempting dark aroma. The detective turned her back to the furniture and blew across the surface of her beverage before taking a tentative sip. A larger greedy gulp immediately followed, which made her moan, but dammit it burned so good. When Beckett was satisfied by the familiar, pleasing hum in her veins, she turned back around. Her partner's chair remained, as did the ten-inch-tall egg sitting in it. The item was white, fashioned from a material she couldn't immediately place; soapstone maybe. The bottom was shorn to provide a flat, stable surface.

_So_, she thought, not_ the feverish delusion of a pre-caffeinated brain._

That left only one explanation. Where was that man?

"Well, there's one mystery we can solve today," Detective Ryan said by away of greeting. He paused beside her, hands perched casually in the pockets of his slacks. He studied the curiosity with more equanimity than she could muster that early. "The writer came before the egg," he explained to her questioning frown.

Beckett rolled her eyes disparagingly. "Have you seen 'im?"

"Castle?"

"No, the creature who birthed this egg, Ryan. Of course, Castle."

The Irishman sniffed, eyebrows arching, and turned pointedly away to head for his desk.

"Uh…is that a no?"

"I don't talk to grumps until after their first full cup," he replied airily, pulling out his chair.

_Wise policy_, she conceded, but answered, "I'm not a grump."

"Is that or is that not your first cup?"

"You want to see sour," Beckett handily dodged, "just wait until Jenny's hormones are going haywire. You're in for a world of temper that you haven't even dreamt of."

"I'll tell her you said so."

_Ack. Crap._ "I—I'm grumpy. I can't be held responsible for what I'm saying."

Ryan shrugged out of his jacket with a self-satisfied smirk, laid the item over the back of his chair.

The detective shifted her focus back to the egg—a battle of wits she felt better equipped for at the moment.

Only moments later, however, Javier strode in as well. The heavy-set man stopped next to her and frowned down at the chair dedicated to her partner. "Huh." Dark eyes switched to her instead. "What are you going to ask for with your other two wishes?"

Kevin gave a soft snort of amusement.

"First cup," Beckett warned grimly, lofting her mug for another needful gulp.

Javier held up his palms in surrender, grinning unrepentantly, and backed away a few paces before turning to go settle in at his desk.

Kate pulled out her chair, eyeing the sphere warily. _Who knows what's in it? This is Castle we're talking about here_. She sat, stiffly at first, but with slowly returning confidence. _Ahem—business as usual, folks, nothing to see here_. One long digit poked her computer's restart button, waking it from a night of hibernation. As it ticked and whirred through its processes her gaze shifted slowly, gradually to the left.

_Peek-a-boo_.

Beckett wasn't going to play his game. No. This was her place of work for crying out loud. That man needed to take it more seriously, needed to take _her_ more seriously. _Right, because that's what you've encouraged him to do since day one_. She steadfastly ignored her inner Lanie, signed into her account.

"Come on," she growled at the machine as it loaded.

That's when the egg made a soft squawking sound. "_Brrak_."

Beckett's gaze lifted into the air straight ahead of her. She willed that to be her imagination.

Kevin said slowly, "Uh, Beckett…"

"Just one normal day," she muttered, turning in her seat to face her partner's chair. "Just one. Is that so much to ask for?" The detective leaned across her desk to lift the egg from its placement and set it on the surface before her. "Obviously it is."

"Says the woman talking to herself," Javier pointed out, smirking, but not meeting her glare.

"How else can I get an intelligent conversation around here?"

"Ouch," Ryan complained, frowning lightly.

"Yeah, wow," his partner added. "Open your egg, sourpuss. I hope it's full of chocolate, because you could use a sweetener."

Beckett focused resolutely on her present. There was a subtle seam across its middle, and after a bit of hesitant squeezing and pushing she discerned the mechanism and gently pried the top back. It opened like a jewelry box to reveal a hollowed middle lined with black velvet. A fitting vessel, as it contained a seemingly solid gold parrot. Her mind drifted immediately to Bubo, the mechanical owl from the old movie _Clash of the Titans_.

She scowled down into the egg for a long series of seconds before finally issuing a huff of resignation and reaching in to liberate its occupant. The boys gave hoots of surprised laughter and abandoned their desks to move in for a closer inspection.

"Wow," Ryan murmured with quiet awe. "It's beautiful." His partner scrunched his features and shot him a look, prompting the other to stammer in addition, "I mean…you know…bitchin' craftsmanship."

Beckett rolled her eyes without looking away from the treasure she held, but had to agree with both of Kevin's appraisals. The weight suggested the bird was gold plated rather than fully crafted of it. The wing and tail feathers were etched with striking detail; each one seemed independently made and then carefully laid over the others. The bird's face, however, was obviously the most excruciatingly detailed aspect. Its eyes, she was somewhat daunted to notice, bore inset diamonds as its pupils—at least a karat each. The beak was similarly so intricate that the dark-haired woman was bewildered as to why.

Then the parrot tilted its little head, blinked its expansive gold eyes. The beak opened partially to emit a soft, "_Brrak_."

All three detectives twitched hard in alarm. Ryan shot a hand to his chest, while his partner leapt back a pace with a blurted, "Whoa!" The words spilled out of Beckett, a raw expression of shock. "What the _fuck_?"

"_Brrak_," the bird chirped again.

"Holy shit!" Javier squeaked.

The parrot lifted its wings and gave an experimental flap, which was more alarming still, but thank God it remained firmly within Beckett's shaking hands. It couldn't fly—_good to frigging know!_

"Good heavens," Ryan murmured again, openly enraptured. "He's fantastic!"

Beckett slowly caught her breath though her heart still fluttered aggressively. Eyes wide, she turned with exaggerated care, looking around in vain for Castle. "W-what am I supposed to…do with it?"

"Love him," her blue-eyed colleague exploded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh man," Javier muttered bracingly. "That is the creepiest thing ever."

"_Brrak_."

"Shh," Beckett hissed, for the sound, as softly uttered as it was, had nonetheless begun drawing confused upward glances from others around the bullpen.

The bird issued, "_What the fuck?_"

"Oh no," Ryan moaned, rising to his full height. The Irishman glared over at her; she'd rarely seen him so inflamed with disapproval. "You taught him a bad word! That's—Beckett! Shame on you!"

The woman's jaw dropped, "What? I didn't mean to!"

"I can't believe you," he mourned, and jeez, the guy looked honestly broken up. The woman felt a creeping mantle of shame rising into her fair cheeks.

"_Katie_," the bird sing-songed. "_Katie, I love you_."

"Oh," Kevin gushed wordlessly, immediately deflating of righteous indignation.

Hell, even Beckett was caught off guard by that. The incline of her eyebrows reversed themselves with surprised receptiveness. "Huh?"

"It's your voice," Javier observed, leaning in and rubbing at his chin. "He's—I mean its…keyed to it somehow, like voice recognition software."

"No way. How?"

"Where did it come from?" the Latin detective asked by way of reminder.

Oh. Oh, of course. That man… "God damn it, Castle."

"Don't teach him anymore swear words," Ryan hissed, as if concerned the bird would overhear them.

"Shut up," Beckett snapped. "He's my bird. He can say whatever he damn well wants." Esposito arched an eyebrow, crossed his arms, and gave a disappointed shake of his head. Back to blushing, she corrected, "I mean: it."

_"Katie. What the fuck?_"

"Teach him something else," Ryan demanded, bristling.

"He already seems to know stuff," the woman observed, frowning. "I didn't teach him my name." Castle must have managed that. He didn't use 'Katie' either really—only when he was appealing to her inner girl, the parts of her which she so rarely allowed to run free. _Fitting then, in this case_, she decided.

"Or 'I Love you'," Espo added. "I wonder what else it has in store."

"Oh shit," she grumbled. Now there was something worthy of concern.

"_Brrak._" It even mimicked her concerned tone when it added,_ "Oh shit_."

"Great, Beckett, just great," Kevin fumed, and stalked away.

Javier chuckled briefly. "Nice going, potty-mouth."

"Shut up," she grumbled, embarrassed.

"At least now you can have that intelligent conversation."

Kate pointed sharply to his desk, snapped her fingers.

"Brrak," he dead-panned as he walked away. "Birds of a feather flock together."

Beckett scanned her desk, frowning. She was hesitant to chance the thing falling over. It was surprisingly light, no doubt fragile. "Um… sit?"

"_Oh shit_."

"No, no, _sit_," she clarified hastily, not looking up, but feeling the weight of Ryan's glaring from across the way.

"_I love you._"

Aw. And she loved hearing it. _Toughen up, Katie. Don't be a sap._ But she smiled fleetingly, and carefully lowered the bird onto the desk surface. Its solid little feet were serviceable, with a spread and stance conducive to stability. Huh. "Good boy," she murmured under her breath, and smiled again briefly before clearing her throat and forcing herself to get back to work.

"Oh no, I missed you opening it!"

Castle hustled to her desk with a pair of to-go coffee cups in either hand. He beamed down at the bird though, and then over at her. "I was counting on your stubborn refusal to your curiosity, Beckett. Alas, I've clearly been a bad influence on you for far too long."

"_Brak. What the fuck._"

Rick gaped briefly, eyebrows lofted in surprise. He frowned over at her and set one of the cups down. "Man oh man. Speaking of bad influences…"

"Hey, he responded to your voice," Beckett noted, irrationally—and only slightly—crestfallen. "I—I thought he only did it for me."

"It's only you," Rick replied. "Sometimes he just wants to talk. Honestly, you think I'd get you a bird that relies on your talking to it for the little guy to have a chance to speak up?"

_Good point_. _Dink_.

"_Brrak. Bad tiger._"

Beckett laughed aloud, a full-throated sound all but unheard of within her workspace.

Castle grinned broadly. "Ah, I got to be here for the first time. Nice. The things this kid says, huh?"

Kate wiped at the corners of her eyes, still grinning. "How much did you teach him?"

"Only what I could piece together from audio clips of you," the author replied as he lifted the soapstone egg to claim his chair, "old voice-mails and videos from mine and some of the other guys' phones."

"Dastardly," the woman murmured, shaking her head, but also smirked. It was a lot of effort, very sweet; to say nothing of how much it probably cost to purchase.

"What have you heard so far?"

"He calls me Katie."

"Uh-huh."

Beckett eyed her half-empty mug and the to-go cup. She lifted the latter for a sip. "He…loves me."

"_Brrak. I love you_."

"Smart bird," Rick offered, smiling. "I was so pleased by how soft-spoken he is. I was worried he'd be louder and annoy you to no end."

"I have a high tolerance for that kind of thing," she replied with a smirk. "Your influence hard at work again."

The author narrowed his eyes. "Quite."

"He's beautiful."

"Right? That's what drew me to him first—just exquisite work. The artist is a guy who lives out west somewhere. He's represented by several galleries, including one here in The City, but he puts so much work into each piece that he limits himself to creating only one bird a year. I was hoping they had a raven, actually, but then I saw this little guy. He's just too fitting."

She quirked an eyebrow, looking to the bird again. _Wait a minute…_

As if on cue the bird said, "_Katie. I love you_."

Gold body. Diamond eyes. Shit—how did she not put that together sooner?

"Castle…"

"_Katie. Wanna get hitched?_"

The novelist's eyebrows shot up right alongside hers, but instead of gaping with her, his lips curved in a broad grin. "Did I say 'smart' bird? I meant genius."

* * *

**A/N: I figured, since it was already started, one more quick one. Now it's back to work for a while.**


	3. Chapter 3

_"Katie_," she heard chirped from the kitchen._ "Are you naked yet?_"

Beckett paused in the application of her eyeliner and frowned at herself in the bathroom mirror. When had she said _that_ before? She hadn't. No way. Like the marriage proposal contained within her golden bird, that was something Castle had obviously stitched together from recordings of her. _I think_.

"_Brrak. I coulda been, I coulda been—an omelet_."

The detective's shoulders quivered lightly as she grinned. With a steadying breath she set to finishing up. Minutes later she drew back a pace to consider the result. Satisfied, she exited into the short hall and back into the bedroom of her apartment.

A rumpled mound of covers was piled along the central portion of the queen-sized mattress—_all_ of the bedding.

"It's seventy degrees in here," Beckett admonished, skirting that bit of furniture to approach the dresser. "Don't be such a baby." _And don't even look at my thermostat again_. The 'his only' drawer opened with a soft squeak and released a subtle bouquet of fragrances, a mixture of her dryer sheets and his: Bounty's Mountain Spring scent and…whatever brand his was. _Sex on a bed of flowers_, she mused, liberating a pair of jeans and a baby-blue t-shirt. With a discreet sideways glance to the mound of blankets she brought the latter article close to her face and breathed it in deeply. _Mmm_. Then she tossed them onto the bed. "Get dressed, Castle. We're gonna be late."

When he didn't move Beckett narrowed her eyes. "Damn," she muttered, "when did my bra get this tight? I must be putting on a few pounds. Castle, do my breasts look bigger to you?" Still the blankets did not stir. _Nothing? Wow._

The woman crossed her arms with a mild frown. She felt her insides lurch with surprise to hear footsteps in the hall behind her. With an alarmed one-eighty she found Castle leaning into view in the doorway. "Uh, hi," he said, drawing the greeting out slightly. "Are you talking to yourself in here?"

"Apparently so."

"Something about your breasts?"

_Of course he heard that_. Beckett turned back to the bed, putting the clothes she'd taken from his drawer back where they belonged. "Are they not worthy of conversation?"

"They're worthy of song. I suppose it would be a duet at that." _Heh_. "The coffee is ready," he added while vanishing from view again. "I heated up a blueberry muffin too, but hurry or we'll be late."

"Since when are _you_ the one ushering _me _out the door in the morning?"

"Oh, hey, that reminds me. Guess what special occasion I'm thinking of for us. I'll give you a hint: it too requires the presence of ushers." She heard the smile in his voice.

Beckett lurched to a halt in the doorway. Her fingers grasped the wooden edge bracingly a moment, just for a moment before she found her step again and filed down the passage into the open area of her kitchen. He's been doing that lately: catching her at unexpected moments and skirting the topic of marriage. Sometimes it's so subtle she can't be certain of its devious validity. Not since the parrot—Cogs, she'd named him—had the author posed the actual words again. But he delighted as only a storyteller could in finding every other means of hinting at it in the meantime.

Rick was sitting on the arm of her couch with a newspaper opened up in front of him. "Theatre performances," he finally answered when she didn't, but a shred of humor followed the words out. "I'd like to get us tickets to see something tonight. Are you up for that?"

Beckett cleared her throat and—_ooh, yummy_—shot towards the muffin and mug of coffee waiting on the counter. The former was already warmed up and halved for her, with a decadent layer of melting butter almost vanished into its fluffy depths. She grabbed the bottom part first, saving the favored top half for last. "Mmf," she replied at length with a pleased roll of her eyes.

"Did you get that one, Cogs? Your momma's latest creation. 'Mmph': Adverb. A functional word used to express pleased agreement. Synonymous with yes. Example: 'Mmph dear, I'd love to join you at the theatre, providing my work allows us to get away for the evening'."

"Don't fill his head with nonsense."

"No, you're right. I could be teaching him more relevant phrases like, 'oh fuck yes, right there'. I can't wait for poor Ryan to hear _that_ little addition to Cog's repertoire."

Beckett chased another bite with a deep sip of coffee, the better a barrier to ineffectively hide behind. "So, uh, w-what's playing right now?"

"There's…" Castle paused, chucked aloud. "Oh my. Universe, your wily ways leave me humbled yet again."

The detective's eyebrows arched slightly. "Huh?"

"There's a production of _Kiss Me, Kate_ scheduled at the Booth Theatre."

"Get out," she grumbled, disbelieving.

"No kidding," Rick assured. "They're here for the next two nights. Last night's performance was given positive reviews. Man, that's just too good. Do you see how the very natural order of the cosmos is backing my play here? I hope that blueberry muffin isn't distracting you from this."

"Let's stay in tonight," Beckett replied evenly, moistening her lips as she lifted the top half. "I'll give you a private showing—my very own interpretation."

"We can if you want, but you can't seduce your way out of this forever, Katherine Beckett."

"Watch me try."

"I certainly intend to," he promised, eying her askance, his voice a pleasing rumble.

_Yeesh._ Beckett turned slightly, focusing solely on her moist, sugary, buttery muffin top and the view of her cupboard doors. The man was a goddamn choking hazard when he looked at her like that. Pieces of her interior jumbled and stumbled as he folded up the paper and set it purposefully aside. Did she actually hear the quiet steps bringing him closer? Maybe it was some kind of internal proximity alert.

"Don't make me late," she issued, trying and failing to be one-hundred-percent stern.

Another quiet chuckle arose in reply, touring the column of his throat without passing his lips. "Even by my standards that's skipping ahead a bit."

_Ack. God damn it, brain. You suck_.

Large hands touched at her lower back and slid forward to swallow her hips, likewise consuming the dominant portion of her awareness. Her partner drew her backwards, mere inches until her shoulders met his chest. They merged hauntingly in places lower as well, and despite herself she was tormented by a strikingly vivid mental image of him pressing her forward, nuzzling firmly, lovingly into her back, and taking her right there over the counter. The author's breath spilled lightly through her hair and onto her neck.

"May I take a bite?"

_ Um…_

"Your muffin," he rumbled, clearly amused at her hesitation.

_ Er…_

"Your literal muffin," he added when she still didn't reply, and huffed impatiently.

_Oh. I knew that. S_he held the treat aloft within the napkin. Rick leaned past her right shoulder, hesitant with the unfamiliarity of stranger's hand doing the feeding, and took a sizable bite.

"Jeez," she complained.

"Mm," he replied, quivering lightly against her back. "Sowwy."

Beckett stuffed the rest in her mouth, too much, but unwilling to risk more 'sharing'.

"Aw."

"Ith ma favwit pot o tha muff'n," she defended around her mouthful.

Rick waited until he'd finished the bite. "So sexy—when you talk with your mouth full."

"Ugh. You ah so gwoth."

In reply he captured the hand Kate was holding aloft. It was a little sticky; she wrinkled her nose and started to pull away. But he leaned in from over her left shoulder, bringing her fingers towards his mouth. The detective swallowed reflexively. Her mouthful of muffin didn't budge; suddenly it felt more like paste. She watched, somewhat transfixed as his lips parted. The warm gliding wetness of him encompassed one of her fingers. The edges of his teeth scraped oh so lightly; he nibbled at the pad of her digit, and then stroked soothingly with the softer touch of his tongue. He manually withdrew her mere centimeters at a time, his eyes heavily lidded slits of color. When her finger was free the man placed a moist, lasting kiss against the knuckle. He met her gaze with a strangely small, almost sad smile.

It only then occurred to her that he'd shown the adoration to the ring finger of her left hand.

Kate's heart hammered within her. It _thundered_.

She felt the tapping of his finger against the faceplate of her father's watch. _Ahem. Right._ The dark-haired woman brought her mug in for a last sip and swallowed thickly.

By midmorning they were knee-deep in a case. Castle had been behaving himself as they'd gone through the initial steps of their investigation. So when his impishness came out to play again she never even saw it coming. Beckett turned from her desk and stopped dead in her tracks to find the author kneeling there beside his chair. His expression was so solemn when he reached out and took her hands. She should have tugged him to his feet, or pushed him over…something. _Anything._ Instead she'd just stood there, wide-eyed and stricken.

There were other cops nearby for crying out loud, Ryan and Esposito included.

"Katherine Houghton Beckett," Rick murmured. _Don't you fucking dare! _He lifted a pen in his other hand. "Is this yours? I found it on the floor."

A ripple of quiet laughter and choked snorts seemed to ignite and move through the whole frigging bull pen. Ryan and Esposito discreetly tapped one another's fists in appreciate of the ruse—as if she wouldn't catch that.

Chin raised, cheeks mantling, she swept past the author without a word.

"In retrospect," Kate informed Lanie half an hour later, "I wish I'd told him where he could've put it—maybe even _showed_ him." The M.E. had laughed too though, and she looked to be struggling not to continue doing so as she regarded the detective. "God, Lanie—whose side are you on here?"

"Oh pah," the dark-skinned woman replied with a flip of her wrist. "Don't gimme that. At least the man knows better right? He wouldn't make jokes if he wasn't happy with where you two're at."

"He _is _trying," Beckett relented in agreement. "Things are…better."

"Who'd've thunk a candid conversation would put his mind at ease?"

"Har, har."

"M'just sayin, honey: you're both in it, and now you both know it. Sounds like he was holding a lot back before. Now that he knows he won't scare you off he's…having fun. Having fun _with_ you—that's good."

"He's more ballsy. I'll give 'im that much."

"Paying more attention?" Lanie guessed.

"Yeah, actually, he is."

"Still gaming with his buddies when you prance by in something sexy?"

"Oh god, worse. He said he wanted to teach me how to play. I fell for it last week. When we got into the game—instead of killing each other like they're supposed to—the whole goddamn group of players, which is like sixteen people by the way, lined up side by side on the map and started singing 'Only You'."

Lanie's eyes widened comically. "As in The Platters?"

"Yeah. He'd prearranged the whole thing. There was a fucking dance number, or as close to one as they could manage."

Her friend burst out a brief, melodic laugh. "Oh girl—that's too much."

"I thought so too. I slaughtered the whole bunch." She frowned and nibbled her lower lip. "That only seemed to encourage them though."

"Phew. I have a lotta faith in you, honey. You know that. But I dunno how much even you can take of this. I give you another month, maybe two. And when you cave and slip that ring on your finger," the woman patted her shoulder in a mockery of consolation, "you just remember how good a struggle you made of it. Be proud of that."

"You're _so_ funny," Beckett muttered, lathering the second word with sarcasm.

"I'm _so_ a bridesmaid," Lanie returned in kind, grinning.

Kate just sighed.

At lunch that day the author took her somewhere new. It was a café with outdoor seating. The quality of the food they ordered didn't justify the price. She'd been in the middle of pointing out such for future reference when the nearby church spilled out a wedding party to the accompaniment of sudden, celebratory bells. The guests were cheering and all, throwing rice as a young, happy couple descended the stone steps to an awaiting limousine. Beckett glared hard, waited for her partner to toss out some facsimile of surprise—blame the universe perhaps. He just stared at her and smiled.

They'd taken Castle's car into work that morning. When they left the precinct that evening she had a front row seat when he found his ride strung with cans and festooned with white streamers. Written on the rear windshield in grease pencil: _Just…Wanted to say Hello!_

It was so rare she surprised him, brought him to full and unrestrained laughter. Seeing him happily give in to it, feeling the tightness of his hug, and hearing the underlying sentiments when he told her, "Nice return." Well. Kate realized all over again that part of her had been waiting for him to change his mind—to decide that he'd given enough, too much even, to not get the answer he'd been hoping she would give his proposal.

He carried that tangible reminder with him at all times—she's seen it now and again: a glint of pure radiance from the silver band, or a riot of refracted light spilling from the diamonds and onto the bullpen floor in rainbow hues when he was thoughtlessly turning it within his fingers, around and around, with his gaze a thousand miles away. It was like a talisman he couldn't bring himself to part with. She'd been seeing it as a reminder of what he didn't have.

Recently, it began to seem more like a promise of what awaited them. But that was _her _job. He wouldn't need the ring if she were doing her part. As gestures went, choosing to stay in New York was _huge_. Rick knew that, appreciated all it meant. Amidst the same ol' same ol' of everyday life, however, even such profound sacrifices were sadly easy to lose sight of. He needed more than the rare grand gesture of her love. The consistent manner in which he gave to her was evidence of that.

_So…two will play this game from now on_.

_Hell_, she thought, smirking as her partner warily eyed her askance from the passenger seat; _it's long past time to even the scales_.

* * *

**A/N: A somewhat less silly addition to set the stage for future chapters. I'm curious to see what kind of mischief _she'll_ precipitate. I never know with Beckett until I actually sit down and start writing on her behalf. That's different, fun as a writer. And speaking of... definitely a treat to share your reactions to the last. Sometimes I worry my sense of humor is too much in my head to translate well for others. I'm so pleased to be proven wrong.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Please, please, _please_," Castle prodded, relentless. Beckett's eyes widened slightly as she stared at the author. The whine was so plaintive and childlike that she was briefly uncertain how to accept it from a grown man. Her partner seemed to realize the depths he'd sunken to, because a hand lifted to scratch at the back of his head in seeming embarrassment. He cleared his throat, crossed his arms, and puffed his chest up a bit. "Please," he restated firmly.

Beckett snorted briefly, grinning as she shook her head in a casual dismissal. "Five years. I should be used to that."

"Come on. It will make me happy," he encouraged, delving back into the whine somewhat.

"Will it make you quiet?"

"Yes," he answered readily, but his blue eyes shifted up and to one side. "Briefly," he stipulated.

Kate rolled her eyes and expelled a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, but only because you were honest." Her companion lit up happily. "Don't celebrate. Just be quick." She stepped back from the confines of the precinct's firing range practice station and into the main walkway behind them. "Where and how do you want me?"

Castle held up his phone, clearly sighting it on her as he experimentally turned the item within both hands and used his thumbs to adjust its settings. "No," he mused aloud. "The lighting presents an unfortunately harsh contrast down here. Back up to the wall so I can see your face better."

The detective cast a wayward glance to either side of the otherwise—_thankfully_—deserted area and complied. Her shirt met the cool bricks of the wall. She poked out her tongue at the cameraman.

"This is serious," he reprimanded.

"Seriously stupid," she muttered. "Hurry up, Castle. I'm here to practice, not model for you."

"Okay," he said, but not as though he were answering her. "Move to your right. I don't want that safety poster in the picture." When she shifted to one side her partner directed, "Your other right, babe." The man's smile awoke in answer to her glare as she shifted down the wall for him. "Good. Now…let's see. How about for the first one we have you hold your gun raised towards the ceiling and your body turned to profile?"

_First one? _"Castle…"

"What? I'm just thinking out loud. Move around a little. Explore your space. Help me find the right shot."

"Good grief," she issued with grim humor. "Listen to Yousuf Karsh over there."

"Karsh photographed the woman that inspired your middle name, detective. Show some respect."

"He did a portrait of _Audrey_ Hepburn, writer. Stop googling your education."

"Same difference. Ooh, hold that!"

Beckett instinctively paused with her hands at her sides and her head turned to warily observe the double-door entrance. The iPhone gave a soft _snick _as the image was captured. She scowled afterward, irritated with herself for having thoughtlessly complied.

"Goodness," Castle breathed, staring intently at the result. "Fantastic. Okay, resume."

"I need to resume what I came down here for," she stated impatiently.

"We will. Just a couple more minutes, Beckett, please." The tone in which he spoke was so candidly hopeful that she faltered. With another huff she swallowed her denial, but lingered uncertainly in place. One summer of gigs didn't make her a frigging expert at this stuff. "Pretend it's just us—you know, _because it is_. But somewhere else too, somewhere you're comfortable."

"Our home," she suggested, "which is where this kind of activity belongs—not where I work."

Rick's eyebrows lofted slightly as he smiled. "Our home, huh?"

_Ah shit_. Not 'your loft', or 'my apartment', but a designation implying whichever place they escaped to together. "You know what I mean," Beckett grumbled, discomfited.

"I think I do," he replied in a vaguely sing-song voice.

Beckett narrowed her eyes, easing away from the wall. Her eyebrows arched slightly as she pulled the white dress shirt free of her slacks. She held the man's gaze while unbuttoning each of the cuffs and rolling them back once. Blue eyes locked onto her right hand as it rose to pull out the pair of clips pinning her hair back. They narrowed into pleased slits of want as she ruffled its honeyed length with her fingers. A measure of chaos resulted. _Sexy chaos, s_he hoped.

_Snick, snick_ went the phone in confirmation.

The detective smirked, lifting her eyes to the dreary concrete ceiling above them. It wasn't difficult to imagine him moistening his lips as he observed her; the man possessed a downright vampiric affection for her neck. Kate could almost feel him kissing her, such was the impression he'd left her with. Her fingers lifted lightly to her skin, mere ghosts of pleasure by comparison. She was warm to the touch, and the pulse within the column of her throat was quickening in direct proportion to her wandering mind. A fleeting self-imposed admonishment—_Don't be stupid!—_flit through her mind before Kate's fingers found the button her of shirt at chest height and expertly released it.

Her dark eyes closed, not needing to see his attention to know she possessed it wholly.

_Snick_._ Snick_. _Snick_.

She meant to lower her hand to her side again, but when her fingers caught briefly in the valley of her shirt, the detective found herself flicking another button open, almost unconsciously. The fabric gaped open now, inviting the coolness of the room to meet her exposed flesh. A tingle of unfamiliar excitement wound through her. The workplace was the realm of her inner Beckett, not Katie. It was pure idiocy either way, _God yes_, but it happened so easily. It hardly even felt like her fault. Her chin lowered enough to present a view of Castle, whose expression was taut. The iPhone was lowered to his side, all but forgotten.

He wanted her. Now.

Beckett let a slow smile creep onto her lips as she approached the stall again. Her partner held his ground, undaunted and all too receptive. The temptation was already a building warmth and moistness within the center of her—the raw openness of the way he desired her gave the woman an inner ache that demanded to be _filled_.

Their shoulders met as she eased into place before the stall's worktable. Kate smirked, pressing her ass into him more than was required to get by. He backed off a pace with a quiet grunt of protest, lending her room. "Rick," she voiced, picking up the weapon which had already been made safe. "Put on some protection."

_Snick_.

_Heh_. That was sure to be a wonderful picture of his palm. The detective moistened her lips as he reached past her to acquire the little case in which he kept his ear-buds and shooting glasses. By the sounds she knew he was putting them into place, and his hand squeezed at her right hip afterwards in a mute communication of readiness. Beckett swallowed, donned the precinct-owned safety gear she was using.

"Got a full load here," the dark-haired woman observed aloud, raising her voice. Christ, she couldn't resist. Kate gave him a sly, half-backwards glance. She bit her lower lip and rolled her eyes back in their sockets while smoothly pushing the clip into her weapon. "Mm," she expressed in a throaty moan of pleasure.

Rick looked pained, and conveyed by his glare that he was getting a little pissed off.

The detective quivered briefly with amusement as she squarely faced front again. "Go to your stall," she commanded evenly. "We'll do this volley together."

"Most expensive snapshots _ever_," she heard him growl as he stepped away. A minute later he called, "Alright, I'm ready. You start us off. I wouldn't want to finish first."

"Such a gentleman," she murmured, grinning, but it was doubtful he heard her. Beckett was practicing with her Glock 19, which left Castle using her back-up 26. The subcompact looked downright cute in the author's large hands. "Castle, check it out: mine's bigger."

"It's not the size of the weapon," he returned, somewhat indignant. "It's whether it hits the target."

"Whatever helps you sleep." She punctuated the words with her first shot, a crash of sound blasting downrange. The practice sheet fifteen yards ahead gave a twitch of contact.

"I don't foresee much sleep tonight." The difference of the report was clear as he squeezed off a round. A second followed quickly after, and a third.

"Wait for me," she protested.

"Foreplay's over," he challenged. "Keep up or get left behind."

Beckett set her jaw determinedly and sighted downrange. Her weapon bore a fifteen round capacity—his twelve. Yet when she'd fired her last he answered with one final shot he'd held back, waiting for her as promised. The detective smiled briefly, checking her weapon before holding down the call button to bring the target in. When it was halfway there she saw Castle's start moving as well.

It wasn't her best work; no surprise, given her lack of proper focus. The spread was irregular, but confined within the eighth ring of the silhouette with most scattered throughout the ninth and a few in the central tenth. Beckett set it aside and replaced it with a fresh sheet. They weren't using the precinct's materials. Castle had brought them from home. The silhouettes were images of sexed-up female zombies. _Better for us to get caught buck naked and in the goddamn act than using these_, she mused, casting another wary glance to the entrance and their general surrounds.

Castle appeared around the right partition of her stall. His shooting glasses were lifted into his hair and the protective ear-buds dangled at either side of his neck. Blue eyes tumbled immediately into the fair curves of her chest. He closed them tight, opened them to lock with her earthy-hued pair. "How did you finish?"

"Messy," she offered, smirking and showing him the page.

"It looks pretty good to me."

"How about you?"

He lifted his sheet with a somewhat rueful smile. "This Zombie had my number."

"Oh no," she laughed, squeezing his arm in sympathy and lifting the opposite corner of the paper to get a better look. He'd been all over the place, though to his credit each mark had found the zombie. "If this version of the Apocalypse ever occurs, the first thing I'll do is track you down and fuck your brains out. I can't have you shooting like this when it counts."

"Alas, without brains the sexy female zombies wouldn't have anything to do with me. Don't get me riled up beforehand and I'd be fine either way," he grumbled, yanking the page out of her fingers.

"Let me go a round with my back-up and we'll get out here," she promised impishly, tugging the sheet again, reeling him in by it. The paper crinkled between their merged bodies. Like the gunplay their kiss began with a semblance of control, but quickly escalated. She groaned into his mouth when their tongues merged sublimely. Her body twitched in surprise to feel his fingertips against her belly, sneaking beneath her shirt and tracing a descending line from her navel. Simmering arousal followed the digit south to the waist of her slacks, continued south even when his fingertip lingered behind. He'd snuck right through whatever barrier it was between them—_paper? What's paper?_

Her nails were crawling up the base of his neck when the writer leaned back from her. She blinked into the unexpected distance between them, stared dazedly as his attention lowered and his devilish grin rose to fullness. Beckett looked down.

The bullet holes, viewed through the blank white backing of the sheet, aligned with perverse precision over her nipples, belly button, and…_huh, great shooting after all_. She knew men who couldn't find _that_ spot on a woman with a GPS tracking device and Google Maps—let alone from fifteen yards away.

"I see you everywhere," her lover observed.

"But you shot me," she pointed out, frowning up at him. "Creep."

Rick laughed.

"Come 'ere," she growled, tugging him back to her.

By the time Kate made it back to the shooting stall her legs were quivering beneath her. The detective turned slightly, warily watching him watching her, pacing in the dimness as he did so like a caged panther—all dark attractiveness and coiled ferocity. A few deep breaths later she turned back to the range, steadier, but still tingling within.

"All set back there?"

"Get on with it," he seethed deeply, unknowingly drawing her eyes half-closed. That particular brand of impatience was just…delicious.

The target had been moved up to ten yards. Beckett steeled herself, forcing aside thoughts and images of the author, as well as the reactiveness of her body. She was patient, waited until her focus was seamless. Then she emptied the twelve-round clip of her Glock 26 in as many seconds. What resulted drew a proud grin from Kate even before she began to make the weapon safe and set it aside. The shooter thumbed the call button and reeled in her prize.

Rick appeared at her side as she pulled it from the hooks. Turning, she pressed it against him the way his page had been aligned against her. The holes formed a recognizable heart at the center of his chest. Castle's smile could've melted an icy coating from the spiked tips of the walls around her heart had he not already won his way past them.

"I love you too, detective."

"No more talking. Grab our shit while I log us out. Home, Castle. Pronto. Yeah, yeah, _our home_. Just get moving. Wait, no, not _moving _moving... You know what I mean, damn it. Oh God, just stop grinning and go!**"**

* * *

**A/N: So...no proposal or similarly geared events this time around. I guess it can't _all_ be about that subject, though a proposed moving day isn't far off the mark, is it? Thank you for reading, as always. You guys are a trip and a half, and experiencing the story through your perceptions is just...too cool.**


	5. Chapter 5

**The silliest stuff always seems to come easiest. The following conversation practically wrote itself. Fair warning.**

* * *

"What's the…Ice-cube magic trick?" Esposito asked haltingly.

Like startled gazelles on the African savannah, Beckett's and Castle's heads rose alertly from their respect tasks—he from his iPad, her from an emailed memo. It wasn't as shocking a moment as, say, stepping onto the pressure plate of a bomb and hearing the definitive sound of its arming mechanism. That was difficult to top in terms of sheer, sudden horror. Nonetheless, the query brought Kate's mouth open slightly in mute, surprised protest. In the next instant her attention snapped to Castle with her autumn orbs narrowed into blades of naked hostility. But the author looked stricken where he sat beside her desk, more surprised than her if anything.

_Oh. Guess not._

Beckett gave her companion's foot a subtle kick and donned a belated poker face, watched him to be sure he did the same. Esposito hadn't noticed either of their reactions. He was frowning bemusedly into the pages of a _Cosmopolitan_ magazine. It took a moment to process that unlikely image, and another second of gawking to confirm its enduring reality. Kate heard herself murmur, "Espo...what on earth are you doing?"

"Huh? Oh." Broad features scrunched in mild annoyance. He completed his arrival to where they sat and lifted the item in hand slightly. "Lanie's birthday is coming up. I overheard her talking about a purse she saw someone toting in this issue. Hell if I can remember who though. Everyone has one. Even the guys got 'em these days."

"It's not a purse on a guy," Ryan commented as he joined the cluster around Beckett's desk. "Jack Bauer used a satchel in 24. It's cool now, and it was already functional before—best of both worlds really. That's what Jenny bought me for Valentine's day. It's awesome."

"Yeah," Javier replied slowly, drawing the word out doubtfully. "Somehow I doubt you and these pretty boys keep 'em filled with weapons and kick-ass tech."

"You don't even _know_ those guys. I mean, okay, _I_ don't use it for that kind of gear, no. It's where I hide the snacks Jenny refuses to put in my bag lunch."

"Sneakiness worthy of Jack Bauer," Rick commented approvingly. Ryan beamed.

Esposito flicked his eyebrows dismissively. "I suppose it's a handy place to keep their balls, since they're obviously not wearing them where nature intended."

"'Wearing them where'," Castle quoted and smiled vaguely to himself. He leaned back into his chair more comfortably. "Ah, Javier, it's like watching Gargamel trying to catch those tasty Smurfs. He tries so hard, but even when his cleverness seems to be within reach of fruition we know he's destined to be confounded."

Beckett lilted a brief, surprised laugh, lofting a hand in apology even as she did so.

Javier was not impressed. He had the look of a man ready to chew rocks.

"I'd like to back you up, bro," Ryan offered, "but you're reading _Cosmopolitan Magazine_. No one here can help you if you don't want to be saved."

"This is Beckett's," Javier shot back. "I just borrowed it, and I got a legit reason. Go put some purloined junk-food in that mouth."

The matriarch-of-sorts sat up straighter. "What? Mine? Where did you get _my _Cosmo?"

"Purloined," Castle quoted aloud again. "Okay. Nice one."

_Oh shit!_ She remembered now: Castle had already gone through that magazine. He irritated her all afternoon one day last week by coaxing her into gradually filling out one of the quizzes intended for married couples. _Bed, Bath and Beyond: How and Where You Get Your Do-mess-ticity On._ He'd named her 'magic trick' the most erotic performance ever. It was funny at the time, flattering even. She might've known it would come back to bite her in the ass. Thankfully, the matter seemed to have gotten well and truly lost within the conversation.

"Never mind all that," Kevin interrupted, frowning suspiciously. "Go back to the part where Beckett reads Cosmo."

"What about it?" she returned, frowning with confusion.

"It's…kinda girly that's all."

The woman stood and snatched the item out of Esposito's hands while he was in the middle pawing through it. "What the fuck is that supposed to that mean? Ah, damn it." She lifted a palm to her right temple, shook her head regretfully. "I think I just helped make his point."

"And you did it so well," Castle offered, smirking. "With all the conversational grace of Taz the tazmanian devil." Beckett glared over at him, but the author only lifted a hand and traced a winding path through the air. He accompanied it like a buzz-sawing noise—actually, not a bad imitation of Taz's erratic, whirlwind movements.

"Cosmo," Ryan repeated to himself, blinking owlishly.

"She saves the issues of Guns & Ammo for her bathroom," Rick hissed in a stage whisper.

Both Kevin and Javier laughed along with the novelist that time.

"Shut up," the detective snarled. They did not obey. "It's full of work-related information, assholes." That only made things worse. The pitch of their amusement rose with the abandonment of control. "Ugh. Screw you guys. I need coffee." She started to go, but returned to rip her top right desk drawer open, slap the magazine into it, and then slam it shut again. "And keep your goddamn hands out of my drawers!"

_Gales_ of newly heightened laughter answered her. _Shit, Katie. Nice lob. You're such a punny girl_. The three men were drawing a small crowd of gawkers sniffing around for the joke—the trio was almost hysterical. She fled to the break room with the sounds chasing her the whole way. The woman decided to ride out the storm there, used the time to brew both her and Castle fresh cups, though what the latter clearly deserved was a night of sleeping on her couch. She shouldn't have confirmed that Guns & Ammo comment. Rick had made it sound like a joke, a miniscule dose of assistance even while he was teasing her. For all the boys had known it wasn't true.

Well, she sure showed them what was what. _Grrr!_

The noise level out there was back to normal. Beckett chose to risk it; she snagged both mugs and returned to the bullpen. Midafternoon light had the place awash in its transitory hues of gold and amber. The team was right where she'd left them, hovering in a semi-circle around her desk. They had the magazine out again! She was less offended by the invasion than surprised by their daringness.

"Did I stutter when I told you to keep out?"

"My fault," Esposito offered with a small, contrite smile. "Sorry. Seriously. I just really need to find that bag. And if you can believe it there's no one else here who has a copy for me to borrow."

"Try a store," she grumbled, carefully elbowing her way back into the mix.

Castle's eyebrows lofted to see the second mug. His blue eyes crinkled with affection as he reached to accept it from her. "Thank you."

Beckett grunted dismissively and moved Ryan aside with nothing more than the deadliness of her glare in order to claim her seat.

"This is last month's," Javier replied at length. "Well, this month's technically, but all the stores are already into the June issues."

"Why do they do that anyway?" the blue-eyed detective wondered aloud. "It makes no sense. May issues come out in April, June in May."

"It's fashion," his well-muscled partner grunted. "It's not supposed to make sense."

"Gentlemen," Castle sighed, "if you're gearing up for summer fashion, what good is the June issue going to be when the season has already started? They come out early to give women time to save up some money and scope out the best deals on what they like. You see, they live for the hunt as much as they do the acquisition." His gaze found Kate and narrowed again as he smiled. "That being said, some treat both options with equal vigor."

Beckett withheld her smile, but arched a wry eyebrow. _I'll show you vigor…_

Ryan turned to look at Kate. She watched him consider her for a silent moment. He clearly started to ask her input. But then he stopped, frowning doubtfully. He turned back around.

"Castle's right," the dark-haired woman snapped. "And yes, damn it, I _would _know, Kevin Ryan. Do you think I wake up with my hair this way for crying out loud? Does my make-up apply itself? Do you see me loafing around here in slippers, sweatpants and a grubby T-shirt? I'm a woman, damn it."

"You're a _lady_," Castle emphasized.

_Huh? Wow. Two compliments in a row? Who's getting lucky tonight, Ricky? You are! Yay!  
_

The author reached over and tapped Ryan on the back of the head. "Yo. Don't be dissin' my ho, uh…bro. Well shoot. That can't be right, can it? That was way too many 'oh' sounds. What is it again, Javier?"

Ho? _Ah well. Luck's a fickle bitch. Enjoy the couch, jackass._

"You were fine up until the 'bro' part," the Latin detective replied distractedly. "Keep it simple. Like this: Get offa my bitch, son!"

"Ah," the writer replied, drawing the word out with approval and nodding. He slipped a spiraled notepad out of his back pocket and flipped the cover open, scanned about for a pen.

Beckett held one aloft somewhat, eyebrows arched. She held onto the writing implement when he accepted it, stalling him and inserting a blip of confusion into those blue eyes before letting go. "Write it down, but if it ever leaves your lips in relation to me you _will _live to regret it, buster."

"It's just slang," Rick offered, smiling briefly. "Trust me; it would take far more than a mere change in terminology to make _you_ seem less extraordinary."

_Mmm._ _And back into bed you go. Nice save, partner._

"It's a clutch," Becket stated with a rough clearing of her throat, "not a purse. Check the table of contents for the article about the Billboard Awards. I can't remember now who was holding it, but that's the place to start canvasing. It's small and black, a Jimmy Choo."

"God bless you," Castle murmured distractedly as he wrote.

She paused, frowned at her partner though he wasn't looking to notice, and continued, "Honestly though, I don't think Lanie would want you buying something like that for her."

Javier began turning the pages again. "Yeah, well, she literally drooled a little while she was describing it to one of her sisters on the phone. Seeing is believing, you know?"

Castle smirked without looking up from his writing, helping to elicit one from Kate as well. _Sorry, Lanie, but I buy that image_.

Ryan raised his hand slightly. "Was it her literal sister? Or do you mean the term describing an African-American girlfriend?"

"What difference does that make?" Castle asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I just like a clear picture is all. Wait. Why? Is that—Did I sound racist?"

"I don't see how it could be construed as such. Her literal sister is probably dark-skinned as well."

Ryan's eyebrows shot up and he gently elbowed Javier, who seemed to be paying neither man a scant second of attention. "Dude! Just let it go, okay? He doesn't mean anything by that kind of talk."

Richard shook his head, lips pursed and his brow drawn in a classic 'oh look, you said something stupid just now' manner. "'Dark skinned' isn't even a term in that sense, Ryan. It's a description, and an apt one; although it is a bit vague now that I consider it. It could just as easily refer to someone with a deep tan. Hmm."

Esposito lifted his gaze from the magazine to looked to one man, then the other. "Wha'?" When neither hastened to reply he shrugged and went back to his search.

"It costs over a thousand dollars," Beckett inserted into the lull of their chaotic conversation.

"What does?" Ryan asked.

Their leader just stared blankly. She sipped her coffee, closed her eyes, and wished for a sunny beach, a few ripped 'dark-skinned' cabana boys, and fruity alcoholic drinks with umbrellas in them. Kate opened her eyes in time to see Castle cross his arms and lean out around Javier to view Kevin.

"That's the fine you pay for confusing a simple description with a racial slur. Pay up."

"Bill me."

"That bag costs over a grand!" Esposito blurted loudly. "What the _hell_?"

"Wow," Beckett dead-panned. "Who'd've guessed?"

"It's not even a bag," Ryan pointed out critically. "It's more like…an oversized wallet that could fit in a purse. Is that how they work—as a set?"

"It's a clutch," Castle explained without condescension. "They're acceptable whenever, but are seen to be the more elegant choice for an evening on the town. They do not go into purses—they're alternative accessory items." His eyebrows arched slightly and his gaze seemed to turn inward. "That being said, who really knows _what_ goes into purses?"

"Seriously," Beckett voiced dryly, pillowing her chin in the palm of one hand, "who'd have guessed it would cost so much?"

"Not me," Kevin replied bracingly, but not to her. "I've got older sisters. I learned better. I'd have sooner ventured through the black gates of Mordor than into their handbags."

"Javier?" Rick asked.

"Huh? Oh—I dunno what's in 'em. Who cares? I'll tell you what _doesn't _go in 'em, bro. Money. Because they used all their paper buying the damn bag in the first place."

"Clutch, not bag," Beckett inserted, promising herself it was last attempt.

"Yeah, that's what I said."

_Oh, I'm not invisible after all, _she thought somewhat sourly_. Phooey._

"Why's it called a clutch?" Kevin asked. "Oh no, wait, I get it. Small. Grab. I'm there, sorry."

"Well, I have to get it for her," Javier determined aloud.

"Can you afford something like that?" Rick asked, but he seemed concerned on Javier's behalf rather than a man poking fun. Beckett smiled briefly behind her coffee mug. He was a good man, a good friend.

"It's a stretch," the heavy-set detective acknowledged.

"You can ride into work with me for a couple weeks," Castle offered. "Save on gas money at least."

"Better yet," Ryan inserted, "we could all bust out our bicycles. We can save money _and_ the planet. Oh man," he enthused with a grin. "We'll be like a biker gang! Well, except, of course, we'd be—"

"Pussies," Javier inserted neatly.

"Flattened by one of this city's many insane cabbies," Castle added soberly, "who wouldn't recognize a red light if Rudolph the Reindeer swooped in from the North Pole and took on dump of Christmas cheer on the hood."

Beckett's shoulders shook with silent laughter. It was even funnier with them being so serious.

Ryan leaned in, eyes narrowed in affront. "The 'I told you so' you guys have coming is going to be _epic_."

Javi snorted and crossed his thick arms. "This coming from the guy who refuses to shut his computer down all the way at night. That wastes electricity."

"The power button wears out so fast! You're nudging the motherboard every time it gets pushed. Sooner or later those cheap screws are gonna give, and you know damn well the tedious process involved in getting a computer replaced around here. It's like pulling teeth."

"Cheap screw," Javier selectively quoted, smirking over at Rick and lifting a hand.

The author smiled just subtly, nodding, and reached out to feed the other's hungry bird.

"I hate to break this up," Beckett interrupted flatly. "But are we going to get _any_ work done today?" All three men turned to look blankly at her. Their gazes shifted among one another and almost in unison they reformed their loose huddle around the magazine. "Just checking," she muttered.

"So…I can ride into work with you?" Esposito asked the author.

"Of course. I'd be honored knowing it's helping make Lanie happy. I think she'll love it. The gift will be more meaningful to her knowing you had to make room for it, financially speaking."

_True. But that's assuming she's ready for meaningful._

"Can I ride in with you guys too?"

"What? Why, bro?" Javier's expression fell flat. "Oh, right. The planet again. I love how we're all so worried about _saving _something that's been around for who knows how many billions of years. This rock we're standing on witnessed the Big Bang, survived a fiery metamorphosis into something capable of supporting life, and it's endured the impact of a billion or more meteors. Ice ages come and go. Oceans rise and recede. Continents shift with a level of violence that shatters cities. But _we're_ the key to its destruction, huh? Talk about fuckin' hubris, bro. Drop every nuke we've got. It won't mean much. This planet ain't goin' anywhere. You can change it, sure, but it'll still be here when we're long gone. I bet some form of life, however rudimentary, will survive whatever hell we put this place through and the whole cycle will begin anew. We're the ones who'll be gone, okay? So don't talk to me about saving the world. Don't make it sound so fuckin' noble. It's okay to call it what it is: saving ourselves. That's a fine goal too. You don't gotta dress it up to sell it."

"But we do," Rick commented neutrally. "We can't just do it for ourselves. It has to be part of something bigger, more grand. It's as though we don't consider our own existences worthy enough to act on the behalf of. That probably means we're not the best equipped species to be saving anything."

The Irishman's eyes were rounded into gaping blue saucers. "I...I just thought it'd be cool to ride in together."

Javier's eyebrows arched slightly. "Uh… Oh."

"Like you thought it was cool to dis my lady?" Castle posed.

_Man oh man. What a fucking instigator_.

Honestly, Beckett couldn't help admiring the novelist's skill, nefarious as it was, because sure enough the accused detective blurted, "I was _not_ dissing—Beckett! You know I didn't mean anything bad, right? It's just that I don't, you know, see you like that. You're not like a real woman to me."

Javier's broad shoulders were quivering with mute laughter. He tapped a fist on Rick's shoulder in appreciation for the setup. The author just smiled evilly, his voice dripping encouragement like venom, "That's right. Keep digging that hole, Kevin. By the time I'm satisfied you'll be looking for a ride to work from China."

Beckett put a firm lid on her amusement, eying Ryan squarely from her chair. "Chill out. I know what you meant. I just wish you could say it without making me feel like I'm watching a kitty chase a flashlight."

Rick and Javier roared. Kevin chuckled briefly, more ruefully.

"Listen," Beckett continued—since she finally had their miniscule attention spans. "Lanie knows how much that thing costs. Yeah, she wants it, but she's a doctor. She can afford to splurge here and there. But if _you_ get it," she punctuated the word by poking Javier in the chest, "it might make her feel weird knowing how much you spent on it. You know what I mean? Maybe you should find something else and let her pay for the bag."

"Clutch," Ryan corrected. He looked to his fellows and rolled those blue eyes as if she were hopeless.

_Oh hell no you didn't…_

Javier lifted his hands slowly, "Beckett—easy now…"

"No, don't," Castle chuckled the words, tugging one of the other's arms back. "Let it happen. I have to see this."

"Yikes," Kevin observed, backing off a pace. "I haven't seen _that_ look since before her morning cup."

Rick knew her best; the author caught Beckett with an arm around her waist when she flew at the Irishman with a wordless snarl. The target of her wrath was already backpedaling rapidly though. He stumbled down into her partner's designated chair. The sudden occupant's momentum tipped it straight over onto its back with a hellish crash.

Esposito tipped his head back, laughing loudly.

"_What in the hell is going on out here?_"

A dreadful, sudden silence fell over the room in the wake of the lethally issued question. Captain Gates' dark eyes were like menacing pits eager to swallow them all whole. Her fiery gaze dropped to the floor at her feet where the _Cosmopolitan Magazine_ had fallen amidst the brief scuffle. She snatched it up and her glare swept over the page it had flopped open on; then it shifted to the four, lingering last and longest upon the writer among their number.

"My fault, Captain, sorry," Ryan offered meekly as he rose from the floor. "I was, uh, doing a trick, but I fell."

_Aw, jeez._ He was trying to take the fall for everyone. How sweet. _Heh. Fall._

Gates' eyes narrowed into blades of obvious doubt. She moistened her lips, pursed them into a severe line of disapproval, and flicked an eyebrow in a different, peculiar expression. "The…" her gaze lowered to the page again, "…ice-cube magic trick, I presume?"

"That's the one," Ryan blurted. "Yeah. It's new though. I haven't got it down yet."

"Practice it elsewhere, Detective Ryan. All of you get back to work. This isn't recess." Their leader tossed the magazine onto Beckett's desk and went back into her office. She eyed them meaningfully through the blinds over the door's window before snapping them shut.

"Close call," Javier muttered quietly "Nice save, bro. You can definitely ride to work with me and Castle. But you gotta sit in the back with Beckett."

Kevin eyed her warily. "Fine. Castle makes her a travel mug of coffee for the road though."

"Deal," his partner agreed as they headed for their respective desks.

Beckett arched an eyebrow up at her captor, smirking, but the expression fled slowly. She gently squirmed out of his grasp and reached up to either side of his head, manually shifting his attention to her. "Hello?"

"Hey," the mystery-writer issued, soft and deep, obviously troubled.

"W-what's wrong? Hey, it's okay. Not like we have a case today anyway."

"Oh, Kate," he murmured in a small voice. "It's not the reprimand. I've got the most horrible…" he hesitated, swallowed thickly. "…the most horrible mental image of Ryan doing your ice-cube trick. It's seared into my cerebral cortex. Oh god." He shuddered bodily.

Beckett gave a surprised, throaty chuckle, sighing with relief. "You ass; don't worry me. And suck it up." She rose onto her tip-toes in order to murmur closer to the writer's ear, "If you're very good for the rest of the afternoon, I may just set the mental image right when we get home."

* * *

**Note: the aforementioned Cosmo quiz is BS. But for all I know an equivalent surely exists out there somewhere.**

**Also: There has to have been a writing prompt about describing this 'magic trick' in greater detail. In the unlikely event it hasn't, I'm officially posing it to all of you now. Lay it on me, people. If you show me yours, I'll show you mine...next chapter. ;)**


End file.
